Page 24 of Time to Shine

Casey slammed the door as he got to the bench. “Fucking Hoffman!” he yelled. At least Landon was pretty sure that’s what he yelled. He was sitting at the opposite end of the bench from Casey, and the Calgary crowd was very loud.

It was only the second period, but Landon already understood why Casey didn’t like Tristan Hoffman. The Vancouver forward had been antagonizing Casey all night, even drawing a bullshit penalty on Casey by taking what anyone could see was a dive.

Anyone but the refs, apparently.

A minute ago he’d very obviously crosschecked Casey’s shoulder, and had somehow gotten away with it.

“Nosey’s going to end Hoffman’s life,” West said. He was sitting next to Landon.

“I think Casey might do it himself,” Landon said.

West spat, then said, “Nosey won’t let him. Lee either. Casey is shit at fighting.”

Landon hoped West was right; he didn’t want to see Casey get hurt.

The score was 2-1 for Calgary, and the game hadn’t turned into a brawl like the last time the two teams had met, but it didn’t seem like an impossibility either.

West went out for his shift, and Ross MacIsaac replaced him on the bench. “This game is a fucking powder keg,” Ross said as he grabbed a water bottle.

“Seems like it.”

“I barely ever played against Vancouver when I was with Toronto. Were they always this goony?”

Landon huffed. “You’re asking me?”

Ross smiled. “Right. I can’t believe we’ve gotta play these assholes again on Sunday. The ice is gonna be soaked in blo—Hey! What the fuck, ref! Is slashing not a penalty anymore or what?”

A few shifts later, all hell broke loose. Hoffman whacked Casey in the back of his ankle with his stick blade, and Casey lost it.

“Oh shit,” West said. He was back on the bench beside Landon, but stood up when Casey got in Hoffman’s face. “Don’t do it, Case.”

Landon was frozen in place by a weird numbing blend of horror and fascination. Was Casey seriously going to drop the gloves and fight this guy?

Yes. Yes, he apparently was.

Casey’s gloves hit the ice and Hoffman didn’t have a chance to even be surprised before Casey had grabbed him and started swinging. The crowd went bananas. In seconds both men were on the ice, Casey unfortunately under Hoffman.

Landon’s heart was in his throat. He couldn’t see any part of Casey except for his legs, but he could see Hoffman’s right fist rising in the air and landing in the vicinity of Casey’s face.

The refs broke it up quickly, likely knowing that Casey had no business trying to fight this guy. Landon finally regained control of his body and stood to get a better view of Casey. God, was he okay?

Hoffman was hauled away, still yelling at Casey over his shoulder. Casey hopped to his feet immediately, to Landon’s relief. Casey’s mouth was bloody, but he grinned all the way to the bench as the crowd cheered him on.

Everyone on the bench was cheering him on too, banging their sticks on the boards in the traditional hockey player version of applause. Landon didn’t have a stick to bang, so he half-heartedly rapped his glove against the top of the boards as he watched Casey go down the tunnel for medical attention.

West’s heart didn’t seem to be in it either. “That was really fucking stupid, Hicks,” he muttered, and Landon decided that he liked West a lot.

“That was really fucking stupid,” Landon said later, because he hadn’t thought of a way to improve on what West had said.

“He deserved it,” Casey said, though it came out a bit muffled because his lip was swollen. He was in the passenger seat and Landon was driving because Casey’s knuckles were also swollen.

“Maybe,” Landon conceded, “but you’re not the guy for the job.”

“I can fight my own battles,” Casey snapped. It was the angriest Landon had ever heard him. “I’m not useless.”

“No shit. That’s exactly why you shouldn’t fight. You’re important.”

“Aw.”

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